


Spiders in the Closet

by leradny



Series: The Trapped Tryptich: Three Tales of Gustav and Jacquelyn [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: "gustav. hold my things.", "renaissance man", "responsible spider keeping", "the picture is actual size", "what a terrible layout this paper has!", F/M, Fluff, These two have taken over my life, actually those could also be alternate titles, gustav is so handsome even lemony comments on it, inordinate amount of references and wordplay, jacquelyn loves spiders the way i love dogs, you don't understand how many alternate titles i had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: Jacquelyn and Gustav are trapped in a closet for several hours, waiting for a message they are not sure will come. To pass the time, they do what anyone else would: Read, and have tea.





	

Somewhere in the distance, a clock strikes one in the morning.

It has been three hours since Jacquelyn started waiting in the dark, cramped closet. If she were alone, she would have very little concern. She did, after all, receive high marks for 'Waiting Patiently In Uncomfortable Circumstances.' But Gustav is with her, a warm presence against her shoulder, and so she worries about him. Not because they are in danger, which they tend to be in more often than not. One does not have to be friends to worry about someone's safety in dire peril. One may even be enemies with someone else, and still care whether they die a prolonged and painful death.

It is Gustav's happiness, along with his safety, that Jacquelyn worries about. As an actor, director, and assistant bearing responsibility for many reptiles, he is the more gregarious of the two. Jacquelyn has learned over the years that the closer two people become, the more worried they are about small problems. For example, due to her infinite compassion she would most likely not leave Count Olaf to drown slowly in a leech-infested lake, but she cares very little about what Count Olaf's favorite meal of the day is, or if, after hours of waiting without news, he would be very dreadfully bored.

"I am so very dreadfully _bored._ " Gustav sighs. "I'd give anything for a good book to read right now."

Jacquelyn has also learned that sometimes, small problems are all they can solve.

The Daily Punctilio is in her suit pocket. She had gotten it to disguise herself as a regular citizen at the train station, rendered unnecessary after her train had come earlier than expected--though not early enough to be on time. She withdraws the paper with a rustle.

"I don't know about good books, but here's a lackluster gazette." However, looking down at where she thinks her hand is, she only sees blank darkness. "Oh! But we haven't any light in here, so we can't even read it."

"It's the thought that counts," Gustav assures her. "Luckily, I thought to bring light."

Her most trusted associate rummages in his satchel and brings out a small box of matches, which he hands to her as he rummages again for something else. Jacquelyn, upon striking a match, breathes a sigh of relief as Gustav's kind blue eyes smile at her across the flame. With the utmost care, he brings out a candle and hands that to her as well. As the darkness lessens, so does Jacquelyn's unease. However, she is confused when he brings out several plates.

"Why did you bring those?"

"The candle I brought because it is often dark wherever we go, literally and figuratively. The plates are to hold coconut cream cake. You would have missed tea waiting for the train, and I know it is your favorite meal of the day."

"Cream cake?" Her stomach growls on cue. "Oh, Gustav, thank you!" She takes a plate in hand and holds it steady as Gustav deposits her slice of cake on it. "It's been a month and a half since I had a proper tea. This is closer than I usually get." The smell fills the closet in an instant, subtle and tantalizing. "All we need is a comfortable parlour to sit in rather than a closet with no elbow room, and the time to be four in the afternoon rather than one in the morning."

"And a pot of tea rather than a portmanteau of tarantulas."

"Two portmanteaux of tarantulae," Jacquelyn corrects him. "And it's not their fault they've been crammed into these suitcases. I'd invite the tarantulae in a heartbeat."

"Just like I would invite the reptiles." He smiles fondly, at both her statement and the thought of his beloved reptiles. "By the way, I notice you still haven't come over for tea at Monty's--ow!"

The wax dripping on Gustav's unprotected hand allows a natural segue from an unpleasant subject. Jacquelyn has never told Gustav why she never goes to Dr. Montgomery's house for tea, or in fact why she never speaks to the doctor at all.

Taking out her handkerchief, Jacquelyn admonishes as she dabs the hot wax off his hand: "You forgot a candleholder!"

"Yes, how silly of me. Would you act as one while I make room?" Gustav holds out his own plate of cake, and there is an awkward shuffle while Jacquelyn figures out a way to hold the newspaper, her handkerchief, the candle, and two plates of cake. She tucks her handkerchief into her blouse, stuffs the paper under her arm, and brings her knee up so she can balance her plate on it. "There!" Gustav retrieves the candle and sets it on a suitcase. "Don't worry, it won't hurt the spiders."

He takes his plate back, then withdraws two forks from his suit pocket. Jacquelyn tries her first piece of soft, creamy, coconut delight, and wonders about going to tea with the doctor after all. She also wonders at the effect a few small things can have. A slice of cake in a closet with her most trusted associate has made her rethink her decision to never speak to someone else.

"I've got the most current paper," she says, rather than continue her train of thought. "It's Thursday's issue, so Mr. Snicket has published his theatrical reviews."

"Yes, as he does every week--for a rather paltry sum, considering his calibre." He starts eating his cake. "I suppose Theatrical Thursday would be the most entertaining part of the Punctilio."

"No, no, this week is different. Don't you remember? We just screened 'Ghosts in the Desert' for Hector."

"Oh!"

"Yes, oh." Jacquelyn holds her plate between her teeth to open the paper, and flips to the theatrical reviews. After finding their title, she hands the paper over without looking closely, then resumes normal holding position of her cake. "Here, Gustav--you read it first. It's your film, after all."

He grins and eagerly takes it, after putting his cake on top of the other suitcase. "Renaissance man is a word which here means 'someone who excels at many interests they pursue, particularly within the arts.' For example, if I were speaking of a man who wrote screen-plays, performed as a leading actor within a filming of that screenplay, and acted as a director for the entire troupe during the production of the film, I could call him a Renaissance man. This man of whom I am speaking by name of Gustav Sebald has written, performed in, and directed a film. He excels at not one, nor at two, and--most regrettably to say--not three of those things."

"That's the most scathing introduction I've ever read," Jacquelyn comments, between bites of her cake. "If this critic were speaking of me, I'd be humiliated."

"This critic may not be speaking of you yet, but wait till he gets to the leading actress. Ahem (that was not part of the review): While possessing well-styled hair, eyes I am sure are of a pleasing shade when off the screen, a trim and well-formed figure, a clear voice, and--ahem (yes, this is part of the review)--and so was that--but not the last one--"

"I understand," Jacquelyn says. One of the small problems Gustav solves for her is how he tries to be perfectly clear in his communication. She adores it, though it is not necessary. "Would you take it back a little, Gustav?"

"A clear voice, and--ahem (yes, this is part of the review)--I dare to say rather attractive facial features, I cannot think of a single word of praise regarding this person's actual theatrical talent, and would suggest they switch to a far more lucrative career as a model."

"Me, a model? Why, that's downright complimentary of our theatrical critic."

"No, he's still talking about me." Gustav turns to another page of the Punctilio with much rustling. "What a terrible layout this paper has! There's an ad for parsley soda that's the exact length of the rest of his review."

"That's a short review for Mr. Snicket. I've heard one takes up the whole column even after three demands to reduce his word count."

"The picture is actual size." He turns the page to show her. Indeed, there is a life-sized bottle of parsley soda drawn on the newspaper, as if the ad's artist had simply traced over a bottle, and the editor had not thought to scale it down.

"What a terrible layout this paper has!" Jacquelyn takes a bite of cake to feel better. "As a typist, I am offended."

"As an assistant herpetologist, I am astonished that Mr. Snicket associates with the Punctilio at all."

"It's the same reason any of us associate with anything terrible, Gustav: To save anyone noble who might be involved, or reading his work."

"Oh, yes--he always did try his hardest at that, according to Monty. He tried to save noble people even if they couldn't be saved, or weren't noble. Poor Mr. Snicket." Gustav clears his throat. "Would you mind ducking down a bit, Jacquelyn? I need more elbow room."

Jacquelyn scrunches herself into something of a kneeling position, without actually kneeling. She would have more knee-room if it were not for the suitcases.

"As for the leading actress--"

Abruptly, Gustav is interrupted by a loud clanking sound in the pipes at their feet, as if someone had dropped handfuls of change, or screws, or other small metal objects down a drain. The tarantulae are startled, and Jacquelyn bends her head down to whisper assurances that the loud sound will not hurt them, though it is rather annoying. Gradually the noise develops a pattern, over and over, consisting of short clinks and longer rattles alternating evenly.

"It's a signal," Gustav says. "The signal we've been waiting for, or my name is Rolf Grussenmeyer. Jacquelyn, please stop eating for a moment."

Jacquelyn puts her plate down immediately as a long silence follows. Then there are three short clinks and a rattle.

"V..." Gustav says.

Two short clinks, a rattle, and another short clink.

"F..."

A rattle, two clinks.

"D!" Jacquelyn exclaims, recognizing the code.

After two more repetitions of V.F.D., the clinking resumes at a pace so quick that only Gustav can translate. It is still slower than natural speech. "All... clear... stop. Key... in... suitcase... stop."

Jacquelyn waits. "Which one?" she asks, after too much silence.

The Morse Code continues. "Apologies... stop. That... was... unclear... stop. It's... the... one... with... three hundred and fifty-six... tarantulae... as... opposed... to... three hundred and fifty-seven... tarantulae... stop."

They both look down at the suitcases, of identical make and label, and evenly sized.

"Gustav, hold my things for a moment. And the candle."

Gustav sets his plate on his knee, tucks the Daily Punctilio under his chin, and whisks the candle off the suitcase. Jacquelyn rolls down her sleeves and puts on her gloves, then picks up a suitcase in each hand. The difference in weight between a suitcase with one fewer tarantula than another is like the difference between a bowling ball, and a bowling ball with no finger holes drilled into it--meaning, very slight. But not so slight that a trained volunteer can't tell the difference.

"This one," Jacquelyn says. She unbuckles the lighter suitcase, whispering to the tarantulae to please refrain from biting her--a request they fulfill as she reaches in for the key. Then she triumphantly pulls it out. Before any of the tarantulae escape, she rebuckles the suitcase and then sticks the key into the doorknob. The door had been installed backwards, and could only be opened from the inside.

She opens the closet door to a dilapidated and empty hotel room with no bed, chairs, or table, but several empty crates and a television. Gustav sets the plates and candle on the television and pulls the crates next to each other so that, Jacquelyn knows without hearing it said, they may finish their tea. Jacquelyn rolls the suitcases out of the closet and gently sets them down, then takes a seat next to her most trusted associate.

"Here's to a successful rendezvous!" Jacquelyn says. "Shall we finish reading Mr. Snicket's opinion of our film?"

"What's that thing Norman Juster said?"

"'Why not? That's a good reason for almost anything.'"

In lieu of teacups, they clink their plates together. Gustav takes a bite, ensures the candle is on a non-flammable surface, then unfolds the paper.

"As for the leading actress--"

The rattling begins again.

Gustav translates: "Would... you... mind... terribly... feeding... the... tarantulae... stop. It... has... been... a... month... and... they... are... a... bit... peckish... stop."

"Tarantulae have been known to eat small birds and lizards, but the vast majority of them feed on insects such as--"

"Crickets, flies, caterpillars, and beetles," Gustav says. "Reptiles and tarantulae happen to have a wide overlap in their ideal diets."

"Really? Do you happen to have anything for them?"

"I'm afraid not. The cake took up most of the space in my satchel."

"The poor things! What are we to do now?"

The rattling starts again. "While... they... generally... eat... insects... I... sneak... them... dessert... every... now... and... again... stop."

"Well, that is certainly not responsible of you!" Jacquelyn and Gustav admonish their associate.

"I... know... I... shouldn't... but... these... little... rascals... are... adorable... when... they... beg... for... food... stop."

Jacquelyn stares at her plate, with a little more than half the cake still on it. Then she looks at the suitcases, with a sinking feeling. She would mind very much not finishing the delicious coconut cream cake after having skipped tea. And lunch. And dinner. And supper. Not necessarily in that order. But the fact is, she would not mind terribly if she was giving it to hungry and loyal spiders who belonged to an associate of theirs.

Perhaps if she saw for herself how adorable the spiders were when they begged, she might not feel so bad--a word which here means 'selfish, and aware of it, and guilty about being selfish, which only makes the whole thing worse.'

Yet she cannot bring herself to stand up, or let go of her cake, and the feeling of badness gets worse. She looks back to find Gustav looking at her, with his kind blue eyes that tell her he knows exactly what she is thinking.

He stands with his plate and approaches the suitcases, setting it down between them, and then unbuckling both. His plate is swarmed with peckish arachnids, who later settle into a few even lines and take turns. Their associate had trained the spiders well. Jacquelyn sighs. In the face of Gustav's nobility, she is spurred--reluctantly--to give up her own dessert. But Gustav waves at her to stop.

"It's all right, Jacquelyn," he says gently. "Finish your tea."

It is the small problems that determine whether or not someone cares deeply about you, and sometimes they are all you can solve. But this time--and it is rare indeed for people in their line of work--the large problem is resolved. There are hundreds of loyal, friendly spiders. And this time, Jacquelyn is with someone who cares enough to let her eat cake after performing a very fatiguing duty.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the most fun I've ever had writing! Unbeta'd, but I like to think I read the thesaurus enough times for it to not matter.
> 
> V.F.D. members are too polite for smut. Oh! Another alternate title!


End file.
